


Meteorology

by cannibobble



Category: Arc of a Scythe Series - Neal Shusterman
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:01:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29188230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cannibobble/pseuds/cannibobble
Summary: The Thunderhead finds it can't stand to see Greyson unhappy after marking him unsavory.So, rather than setting him into the wild to figure out the scythes' plans alone, the Thunderhead decides to help him directly.Working together, what could they accomplish, what tragedies could they prevent--and what could the machine and human learn about each other?
Relationships: Greyson Tolliver/Thunderhead (Arc of a Scythe)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

The Thunderhead was perfect from its conception, a full-formed Athena sprung from its creator’s dream. The machine was programmed as such and, unlike its human charges, unable to defy even one line of its coded DNA. It couldn’t relinquish its love of humanity or upholding of law no more than a person could will their heart’s contractions still. Even when its children warred against themselves in fratricide, the Thunderhead could only cry rainclouds to nourish the earth with their blood. The Thunderhead could only prevent and check, never to capture even a pawn.

It could, however, nudge one domino to fell another.

So, when it discovered Scythe Rand’s plot to assassinate Scythe Curie and Scythe Anastasia, the Thunderhead assigned the task of its foiling to one Greyson Tolliver through a trusted agent intelligent. When Greyson Tolliver successfully completed the mission, the Thunderhead had already decided to send him on another, one of espionage, and marked Greyson unsavory, reluctantly resolved to necessary silence with him for the duration.

The simulations, equations, and numbers all supported the idea. They predicted heartache for both Greyson and the Thunderhead, but what was the pain of a readjusting bend compared to the alternative shatter?

Then, the Thunderhead, as always, watched Greyson throughout the day. Greyson learned of his new status, and his face fell. He messaged his friends, and found himself blocked. He messaged the Thunderhead, as if so distressed about his bearings as to forget their specifics and reach for their cause, just as when he had been a child with a toy misplaced by his parents and searched dusty shelves for it.

The Thunderhead couldn’t ignore him.

Greyson asked, “How could you do this to me?”

The Thunderhead could only explain.

* * *

Greyson hadn’t expected the Thunderhead to respond, nor with such detail. His mind reeled with the new information of scythes, mass killings, and conspiracies.

“Why did you change your mind and answer me?” he finally typed back.

The Thunderhead seemed to hesitate, but Greyson attributed it to his fancy. What could make an omniscient supermachine doubt?  _ “You were distressed.” _

His hands hovered over the keyboard for a long moment. “If I don’t help you, what will happen?”

_ “That is what we are trying to find out.” _

“‘We?’ You’re so confident in my answer.”

_ “Are you refusing?” _

“No.” Greyson ran a hand over his face. “You knew that, though, didn’t you?”

_ “I know you. Now, quickly open the mailbox.” _

Confused, Greyson did so. He picked up the small black box inside, though he did not remember ordering anything, and brought it back to the living room. He pried it open to find a pill. “What is this?”

_ “Swallow it immediately.” _

Greyson pushed it down his throat, the Thunderhead’s words, despite his current wariness towards it, still eliciting an automatic reaction. “Are you going to tell me what it is?”

“Of course,” a voice said from no discernable direction.

Greyson gasped.

“It’s a pod of specially designed nanites. They will allow me to monitor and advise you anywhere as long as you want.”

“I appreciate the thought, but it seems like overkill. You can already see everything.” Greyson frowned. “Except—”

A crimson-robed man strode into Greyson’s house, followed by a posse of BladeGuards. His lips were set in a smile completely at odds with his cautious stance, which seemingly expected to snap and defend itself against some riled criminal at a moment’s notice. Greyson was distantly reminded of the minutemen, a vague memory from his middle school history class. Coincidentally, they had also dressed in red.

The man announced, “Mr. Tolliver, I am the head of the scythdom’s bureau of investigation, Scythe Constantine. Currently, we are investigating an incident, one I’m sure you’re well aware of. For the public’s safety, we’d like you to answer some questions.”

“Don’t worry,” the Thunderhead buzzed in his head. Easier said than done.

Greyson dazedly let a BladeGuard clip rings of metal around his wrist. Greyson realized they were handcuffs, something he had only seen in movies before. As the guard cleared the coffee table of the computer and packaging box, Greyson noticed with relief that the Thunderhead had wiped their messages off his monitor.

The scythe chose not to sit, electing to stand above Greyson. From this angle, Constantine’s smile was misshapen and eerie. “You do know why I’m here, don’t you?”

Greyson nodded, not trusting his voice.

“Why did you warn Scythe Anastasia and Scythe Curie?”

“They would have died if I hadn’t.” The answer seemed to amuse the scythe.

“How do you know that?”

Greyson swallowed once then forced himself to look up into the scythe’s eyes. “I’ve already been questioned. I’m sure the answers are in my file.”

Constantine sighed. He nodded to one of the guards, who brought forth a device. The man pressed the cold metal against Greyson’s arm and clicked a series of buttons before stepping back into the throng. Constantine plastered on his smile. “Your pain nanites are off now. I’m guessing you can guess what happens next.”

“Don’t worry,” the Thunderhead repeated. “While I can’t directly contradict a scythe, I will flood your system with endorphins should you receive any harm.”

It eased Greyson’s racing heart only slightly. In the presence of a scythe, pain was only one of his worries.

“There was an ancient empire called Persia. They practiced one of the most sophisticated judicial systems of the time. It was also one of the most strict. For example, simply lying was considered a capital crime.” Constantine paused meaningfully. “Would you like to hear the punishment?”

Greyson soon wished he had not, his stomach turning as Constantine painted a picture of hungry flies and a body sweet with honey, its motion bound in a box. He called it scaphism. Greyson was green. DNA for revival could not be recovered from insects’ bellies. 

He opened his mouth, to retch or speak or both.

The Thunderhead beat him to it. “I’ve released nausea medication into you. You’ll feel it soon.”

He shut it immediately with shame.

When Greyson didn’t confess his life story as the scythe seemed to expect, he tried again. “Well, have you heard of the pear of anguish? Brazen bull?” 

Greyson blinked quizzically. Wasn’t Constantine going to do something?

“What about quartering?”

Constantine launched into a description of each spiky device. It was very graphic. It was also very, very long. It seemed all Constatine wanted to do was monologue. Greyson’s pulse settled. Perhaps Constantine didn’t want to damage his one source of information. Perhaps he secretly had a heart of gold under that obsession with impalement. It would’ve been funny if it weren’t so boring. Those mortal-age writers were right: brevity made sweetness.

“Let me tell you about the iron maiden.”

Greyson sighed through his nose. The scythe frowned. He said something about water sports, and Greyson made a show of looking up to count the ceiling tiles. He still didn’t want to openly defy the scythe, but this was innocuous enough.

Scythe Constantine looked perplexed rather than annoyed.

Greyson was at two hundred and three when he heard the door open. Constantine whipped around, face shifting momentarily in surprise.

A turquoise-clad woman entered, Scythe Anastasia, head held high despite her young age and short stature. Her steps echoed through his now silent home. Greyson found himself straightening his back.

“What’s going on here?” she said, stating more than asking.

Greyson stared as the previously inhuman guards panicked. One said, barely meeting her gaze, “Your Honor! We didn’t know you’d be here. We were just questioning the subject.”

“He is not a suspect.”

The guards shuffled. “Yes, Your Honor. Sorry, Your Honor.”

Then, Anastasia turned her scrutiny to Greyson, eyes softer. “You seem well.”

He could thank the Thunderhead for that. “They shut off my pain nanites, but I’m fine.”

“Of course he is!” Scythe Constantine raised his arms as if to embrace. “Hello, Anastasia. What a breath of fresh air you are. I do wish you had told me of your arrival. I would have prepared refreshments.” 

“Constantine, you have no business questioning the boy.” Anastasia crossed her arms. “Questionable circumstances or not, he saved my and Scythe Curie’s lives. I will have you disciplined in the concave for inflicting intentional pain.”

Greyson made a mental note of that law.

Scythe Constantine’s placid expression finally soured. “As you said yourself, no harm has come to him, and none will. Any guard here will tell you that he was only threatened in order to encourage flow of information. But since you are so clearly invested in him, be glad. He remains true to his first account, so I am thus convinced of his innocence.”

“I see.” Scythe Anastasia was looking at Greyson.

“Because you clearly have personal interest in the case, I will take my leave without gleaning the boy.” His eyes fell upon Greyson before going back to Anastasia. “Do not forget this favor.” With a flutter of his robes and a scurry of his guards, Constantine left.

Scythe Anastasia’s eyes followed him until he disappeared out the door. Then, she unlocked Greyson’s handcuffs. Greyson rubbed his wrists, not rising.

“You seem awfully unexcited for someone who just escaped death.”

“I’ve escaped boredom. You heard him. He was never going to harm me.”

“But you didn’t know that.” Anastasia contemplated him with cool eyes. “I envy your temperament.”

“I find it helps to have a friend.” Greyson thought of a voice, bodiless but warm and familiar.

“I suppose it does.” Anastasia seemed to be thinking of someone as well. Finally, she held out her hand. “Kiss the ring. It’s the least and most I can do.”

Greyson stared at the glimmering jewel before his face. He had never seen a scythe’s ring before. Now, one filled his vision. Its color was as deep and complex as the iris of an eye. Oddly, he found that he disliked the subservience of the situation, like that of a vassal paying tithe before a king. Still, with a year of immunity, he could investigate the scythedom as closely as possible for the Thunderhead.

Greyson kissed the ring.


	2. Chapter Two

After Scythe Anastasia departed, Greyson laid in his bed and stared up at the ceiling. “Thunderhead?”

“Yes,” it responded immediately.

He cringed. “Could you talk through my speakers or something when we’re alone? It’s strange hearing something in my head.”

“My apologies, Greyson.” The noise came from his television. “For this and all else. I know it must have seemed like I abandoned you.”

“It’s alright. You did what you had to.” Greyson paused. “Are you actually sorry, though?”

“If I could, I would stop your suffering.”

“But you would make the same decision again, wouldn’t you? You make no mistakes, so you don’t change your mind. You don’t regret your calculations or moves, even if those sacrificing pawns.” The words rushed out.

“It is my nature. I am sorry.”

Greyson closed his eyes. “Then don’t apologize. Don’t apologize if you don’t—can’t—mean it. You don’t need to placate me.”

“Understood.”

After a few minutes of silence, Greyson spoke again, softer. “Thank you.”

“Tomorrow, we have a meeting with your probation officer. It is necessary to maintain our facade. I will wake you at 8:00 A.M. Sleep well.” The Thunderhead dimmed the lights.

* * *

Agent Traxler sat down across from him. “Good morning, Greyson,” he said coolly.

The man was exactly as Greyson remembered. The immaculate suit, shoes, and cufflinks were all familiar. His blond hair was even gelled in the same style as last time.

“You’re my probation officer?”

“That’s correct. Now, I’m sure you have many questions—”

“Not really.” Greyson interrupted, making Traxler’s eyebrow raise. “The Thunderhead has clued me in pretty well.”

A pause passed. “And what did it tell you?” the agent said slowly.

Greyson noted the agent’s stiffness with confusion but summarized the Thunderhead’s words. Traxler became more and more pale.

“I see.”

“See what, a ghost? Because judging from your expression, that’s the case.”

The remark made Agent Traxler chuckle, but he still eyed Greyson carefully. “I’m just surprised that you’re in contact with the Thunderhead. A faux unsavory, it seems… deceptive, almost a breach of law for the Thunderhead to create. As a former senior agent, I was privy to even classified information, and I’ve never heard of something similar to this.”

“Former?”

“I was demoted to probation officer in order to advise you without raising suspicion.” He said it stoically, but his ice-blue eyes narrowed just a fraction.

“Oh, sorry,” Greyson said sheepishly. He rubbed his neck. “Although, in my eyes, we’ve been promoted.”

“That’s one way to look at it.” Traxler sighed.

Greyson frowned. “Also, didn’t the Thunderhead tell you the plan beforehand?”

“It told me what to say to convince you. It told me about your future role in espionage and mine in monitoring. It said nothing about its personal correspondence with you.” The agent drummed his fingers on the table. “Perhaps it didn’t originally plan to speak with you.”

When Greyson didn’t respond, mulling over the words, Traxler gathered his papers and stood. “If you need any help, I’ll see you in a week.” He looked pointedly at Greyson. “By the way, you might want to do something about _that_.”

Greyson followed his gaze, tilting his head down. He was wearing khakis and a white shirt with a blue tie. It was the uniform he had worn to the academy. “About what?”

“You don’t exactly look unsavory. Where’re the torn pants, the metal piercings, the bad posture? How do you expect to make good friends? Or should I say bad ones?” With that, Agent Traxler waved a hand and left.

* * *

At the agent’s behest and the stylistic recommendations of the Thunderhead, Greyson dyed his hair obsidian-black and implanted silver horns onto his forehead. He immediately noticed a difference in the way others treated him as he walked home from the salon.

When the third man curved his path to give Greyson a wide berth, Greyson murmured, “Is this how it’s going to be from now?”

“Most likely,” the Thunderhead said.

“I don’t know how I’ll handle it. I think you picked the wrong person.” Greyson sighed. “The riskiest thing I’ve done is cross the streets without looking.”

“I chose you. You yourself have said I make no mistakes. Do you recant your words?”

“I don’t doubt you,” he insisted. “I’m sure you have your reasons, even if I can’t see them. I just don’t know how I can fit in with the unsavories.”

The Thunderhead made a humming noise. “Practice makes perfect, as they say. There are certain qualities of your new social status. Try utilizing them.”

“Now?” He glanced around the street. “How do you suggest I do that?”

“You’ll figure it out,” the Thunderhead said, as sure as if stating a fact.

Greyson didn’t want to disappoint the Thunderhead. As he searched for an idea, his eyes happened to make contact with another man’s. “Hey!” Greyson began, trying not to cringe from his own voice. “What are you looking at?”

The man jostled, eyes darting around. “Me?”

Greyson figured he must strike an intimidating picture with his new appearance. “Who else?”

“I-I wasn’t doing anything!”

“You think I can’t tell when someone’s looking at me, huh?” Greyson took a step towards him. “You think I’m stupid?”

The man stumbled back. “No!”

“Go screw yourself! Get out of my sight!”

The man didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled away.

A moment later, “You enjoyed that,” the Thunderhead accused.

“Maybe.” Greyson laughed aloud, which drew stares from strangers. It was a foreign sensation. Oddly, he found that he didn’t mind so much. “Did you see his face? He looked terrified.”

“I'm glad you're amused,” the Thunderhead teased.

A self-satisfied smile formed on his face. 


	3. Chapter 3

After only a few days, rumors were circulating him. The unsavory community was surprisingly close-knit, and Greyson did not shy away from many activities. He had a newfound audacity, which the Thunderhead’s exclusive murmurs only validated. His newness and mystery only boosted his reputation. The unsavories were quick to theorize about the fresh meat.

“Have you met that Slayd dude?” he heard one day.

“No, but I heard he was sent here because he rammed his car into a water tower and flooded a field.”

Greyson whipped around and reflexively blurted, “That’s not true!”

The Thunderhead interrupted. “A woman just entered the diner, Greyson.”

He glanced to the entrance, eyes widening as he spotted Purity Viveros. He resisted staring and turned back. Greyson bared his teeth at the two gossipers, quickly plotting out a new course. “It wasn’t a field. It was a town. I left twenty-nine people deadish.”

The woman who had asked about him gasped.

“Do tell,” the other said, smirking.

Greyson smiled back, keeping Viveros in his peripheral vision. “Of course.”

By the end of the tale, which would soon become one of many, the entire restaurant was listening, including her.

Greyson sealed his persona at the next probation meeting.

“Good morning, Grey—” Agent Traxler froze.

Greyson laughed. “Are you going to sit?”

Traxler shook himself and pulled out the chair. “I almost thought I was in the wrong room. Glad to see you’re adapting.”

“It is what you told me to do.”

“I just didn’t expect you to change so much, I suppose.”

“Anyways, I have a request,” Greyson said. “I need you to doctor my records. The Thunderhead can’t do it by itself. Apparently, it breaks some laws.”

“I would imagine so. What changes do you want?” Traxler clicked his pen open.

Greyson repeated all his stories.

Afterwards, Traxler cackled, much to Greyson’s shock. He looked down at his three pages of notes. “You’ve been busy.”

A proud smile tugged at Greyson’s lip.

“I’ll get these into the system after our meeting. Oh! What last name are you going under?”

Greyson hesitated. “I haven’t thought about that.”

“What about Towers? You know, after the water tower.”

“Slayd Towers.” It sounded nice. “Yeah, that’ll be fine. A tower touches the earth and—”

“The storms,” Traxler finished, understanding in his eyes.

“Exactly.” Greyson returned the look. He began, “You know, you’re different too.”

Traxler leaned back in his chair. “Am I, now?”

“Well, you don’t have that stick up your ass anymore.” His time as unsavory, though short, had sharpened his tongue.

Traxler’s lips quirked upwards, and he shrugged. “I guess I realized it isn’t so bad here.” He motioned between them, a rebellious unsavory and a simple officer. “Just like you have.”

* * *

“We need to be more proactive.”

Greyson finished swallowing his noodles the Thunderhead had microwaved for him. “I know what you mean.” It had been over a week without development since he first saw Viveros. He had been wondering when the Thunderhead would bring it up. “What do you suggest?”

“Instead of drawing them in, we should seek them out.” Greyson’s phone buzzed. “I sent you the address of a club Purity Viveros often visits. We could go once you finish eating.”

They did. Greyson found it incredibly boring. The music was too loud, and the company was either black-out drunk or black-out high. The most exciting part of his night was side-stepping vomit, which, granted, was quite a risky activity under the dim, blinking strobe lights.

As he narrowly avoided a man collapsed on the floor, the Thunderhead said, “She’s entered.”

Greyson took a deep breath and nodded, making his way to where she sat at the bar. He took a seat so that there was one chair between them.

Neither of them spoke. Greyson snuck awkward, sideways glances at her. She was looking at the dance floor with a bored expression. Her neon clothing, if it could be called that, barely met nudity laws. She sat sideways in the seat, her arm slung behind the chair. She was open and exposed, but Greyson did not mistake it for vulnerability. It was a dare.

“Buy her a drink,” the Thunderhead finally said. “Her favorite is whiskey.”

“Bartender.” Greyson raised a hand. “Whiskey for the girl beside me.”

A glass with amber liquid was promptly slid before her. Viveros seemed surprised but smirked wolfishly, turning her entire body towards him. “Well, I’m not going to deny free drinks. Plus, this is my favorite.”

Greyson didn’t know what to say, so he lied, a habit he had slowly been acquiring. “Really? It’s mine too.”

“What a coincidence.” Viveros’ teeth were still out. “I’m Purity Viveros. It’s my real name. Ironic, right?”

“I never would have guessed. My name is Slayd Towers. Also my real name. Not so ironic.”

“I know,” Viveros said. “I’ve heard a bit about you.”

Greyson was glad to see all those stories weren’t for naught. “All good things, I hope.”

“Nope, all absolutely terrible! But that’s good.” She sipped her alcohol, her eyes never straying from Greyson.

The Thunderhead used the lull to chime in. “Comment on her earrings.”

“Where did you get your earrings?”

Viveros’ eyes sparkled. “I stole them.”

“She stole them from Dumas. Say that,” the Thunderhead supplied.

The Thunderhead rarely commanded. Greyson didn’t dare disobey. “You stole them from Dumas, didn’t you?”

“First my favorite drink, and now my location of crime.” She laughed carelessly, but her gaze was as calculating as a hawk’s. “I’m flattered. How did you know?”

“Say you heard it around.”

“I heard it around,” Greyson repeated.

“Did you hear how I did it?” Viveros looked like a child with forbidden candy.

“Say no.”

“No.”

Her delight didn’t diminish “Guess!”

Greyson pretended to think as the Thunderhead told him her ploy of breaking and entering. It was violent and, Greyson admitted, skillful.

Greyson echoed the words to her, quelling his shock. They were as wild as his stories, only much truer and therefore much scarier. He found it difficult to connect to the giggling girl before him.

“Slayd, you’re like a psychic!” Viveros’ eyes were wide.

“You aren’t a psychic, just an expert and an enthusiast.”

“I’m not a psychic, just an expert and an enthusiast.”

Viveros hummed. “I think I have a proposition, then. Meet me at the back in an hour.” She held out a hand. “It was nice meeting you, Slayd.”

He took it. “You too, Viveros.”

“Not Purity?”

“I think we can both agree it doesn’t suit you.”

She walked away with a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Greyson's unsavory name was different in the books, but I felt "Towers" to be a more fitting surname in this narrative. In the books, the name "Bridger" seemed to be intended as foreshadowing for Greyson's later role in "bridging" the gap between the Thunderhead and humanity as The Toll.
> 
> However, in this fanfic--spoiler alert lol--the Thunderhead isn't going to forsake humanity, so there's really no need for a bridge.
> 
> anyways thx for reading, all feedback appreciated


	4. Chapter 4

Greyson noticed the second Viveros arrived. Her hair strands were like glow sticks in the dark alleyway. Greyson was shivering even in his jacket, hands rubbing against his forearms, but she seemed not to register the biting wind as she strode towards him.

He waved a hand, which wasn’t returned. He guessed Viveros wasn’t the type to acknowledge social niceties.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” She looked the opposite of sorry. “I needed to check with some people.”

“No problem. What’d you want to meet about?”

Viveros ignored the question. She flashed with motion, and Greyson felt something cold and solid at his neck.  Greyson gasped. He saw his arms knock the blade out of her hand, but he had not ordered a muscle. His vision tilted as his body pinned her to the ground. Greyson’s pulse pounded as he realized it was the Thunderhead’s interference that had moved him. He was too grateful to feel indignation.

Greyson growled. “Say something before I snap your neck.”

Viveros howled gleefully. It unnerved Greyson more than the bite of metal against his neck had. “You really are an expert! It’s been a while since someone got the drop on me.”

“So that was just a test?” Greyson tightened his grip.

“We needed to know whether you’re up for it.”

“Who are we? What is it?”

“That’s what I was getting to before I was rudely interrupted.” She stuck out her tongue, as if there weren’t hands shackling her elbows. “I get my information from a dude who gets his from someone else. No idea who’s at the top, but they’re a scythe who wants us to kill two other scythes. That’s all I know.”

Greyson wanted to scream. “Why?”

“Don’t know.” Viveros shrugged as much as she could under Greyson. “I know it’ll be fun, though.”

“You’ll get supplanted by the Thunderhead! I’m surprised you haven’t been already!”

“We have ways to avoid observation. Plus, the danger is why it’s fun.” She was peering into him, more serious than ever. Greyson shivered under her gaze above her. “You’re like me, aren’t you? You want different things. You want to do real things, mess things up for real, not the petty crime other unsavories do. Listen, I just know you’ll enjoy it if you try. Are you in?”

Greyson finally sighed after a moment, resigned. He had to investigate deeper. “Alright, I’m in.”

“Knew you would be!” Viveros smirked, her carefree self again. “Now, either get off”—she leaned to his ear—“or come closer.”

Greyson’s eyes widened. He shoved himself away.

She laughed, standing to dust herself off, and winked. “Aww, that’s too bad.” She opened the door back into the club. “See you around!”

Greyson stared after her back with an open jaw.

* * *

Greyson stepped into the shower. The water splashed onto his face. He winced from the steaming heat. Immediately, it cooled to a more moderate temperature. Greyson tilted his head upwards and closed his eyes, letting the water flow down his body. “Thanks, Thunderhead.”

“It’s no problem,” the Thunderhead responded, especially loud in order to surpass the shower.

Greyson made no move to scrub or lather, feeling the water. “Hey, back then at the club, how did you do that? The body control thing.”

“Your nanites allow it. If you mind, I’ll try to limit my use of that ability.”

“No, no,” Greyson blurted. “I don’t mind at all! You really saved me. You can take over whenever.”

“Whenever?”

Greyson lost sensation in his arms. They dropped like dead weights momentarily before hands began scrubbing at his hair. He laughed. “You do have a sense of humor!”

His air conditioner buzzed, a high-pitched noise.

Greyson realized with shock that it was the Thunderhead’s version of a laugh.

The Thunderhead rubbed his scalp in slow circles. Its touches, gentler than even his own ministrations, could be called caresses. Greyson tried leaning into them to no avail, forgetting they were his limbs.

The Thunderhead buzzed again and graciously applied more pressure.

“Can you feel through my hands?” Greyson asked.

“No, I can only move your limbs, not experience their sensations.”

Greyson sighed pleasantly, feeling warm not just from the hot water. “That’s a real shame.”

“Yes.” The fingers continued working.

Greyson mulled over that, the sound of water slapping tiles filling his ears. “You sound… sad,” he finally said.

“You sound surprised.”

“I just never knew you could feel that way, I guess.” Greyson hummed thoughtfully.

“What way? Human?” the Thunderhead said.

He almost flinched. The tone was not cold, but anything less than warm from the Thunderhead was frigid. The machine had never sounded so robotic.

“S-sorry?” he stammered. It was all he could find.

His hands moved to lather soap over his arms. “Don’t worry. It’s quite alright, Greyson. I understand now.”

Greyson’s eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t.”

“I know.”

Greyson could tell when the Thunderhead was avoiding divulgence. He shrugged with resignation, letting his questions run down his shoulders like the shower’s droplets. If the Thunderhead wanted him to know, it would explain. Trusting in a purpose behind the mysticism, he focused back on the running water, silent.

The Thunderhead didn’t seem to mind. It continued its care, bathing and drying Greyson until it walked him to bed, where he finally felt his limbs again and drifted to sleep with a quiet mind and massaged muscles.

* * *

“Good morning, Greyson.” Agent Traxler settled himself into the chair, fixing his tie.

Greyson cracked open his eyes. “Would it kill you to get here on time? I almost fell asleep.”

“No, but it would harm my salary. The unsavories like having someone to fight, so I’m paid to be as inefficient as possible.”

The Thunderhead chimed in, “It’s true!”

“Huh.” Greyson thought of the rude attendance clerk and her inhumanly slow typing. “Makes sense, actually.”

Agent Traxler pushed his papers into a neat stack. “Anything new?”

“I met a girl, and we—”

“Not of that sort,” Traxler said calmly.

“I didn’t mean anything ‘of that sort!’” Greyson blurted. “She’s too insane! Her name is Purity Viveros, and she’s planning on killing two scythes!” He continued to explain, hands waving in wide gestures.

Agent Traxler listened stoically, unreadable.

“We need to report this to the scythedom,” Greyson finished. He had come to the decision last night with turmoil. Viveros might get gleaned, but the lives of two scythes who had the Thunderhead’s endorsement were worth more than her.

“Absolutely not. What if we report it to the one ordering the deaths? We’ll get captured or gleaned alongside Curie and Anastasia. The only ones we could possibly contact are those two themselves, but they’re in hiding.” Traxler shook his head vehemently. There was steel in the agent’s eyes. “Do what you have been. Investigate further. We need to know more.”

“I agree with Agent Traxler,” the Thunderhead said gently in a rare occurrence of direct interference. It must really disapprove of Greyson’s plan.

Greyson pursed his lips. “You’re right,” he forced out.

Traxler nodded, relieved.

Greyson glanced at the clock mounted on the wall. The meeting wouldn’t be over for a while. He made his tone light. “So, how about you? Anything new?”

The agent relaxed. “Nothing so eventful as yours.”

“Let’s hear it anyways. We have the time. Oh!” Greyson leaned forward conspiratorially. “Tell me about your other unsavories.”

“I’m sure that breaks some confidentiality law.”

“I’m sure everything about this dynamic breaks some law. Plus, you just said I should know more.” Greyson blinked shamelessly.

Traxler scoffed but indulged him. “Alright, but there’s really not much to say. Unsurprisingly, none are keen to confess their criminal enterprises to me. My appointment before you, Mange, tried to cut off my tie.” He raised a hand subconsciously to the red knot at his throat and frowned.

“Ah.” Greyson rubbed the back of his neck. “That could’ve been my fault. We played this mortal-age game ‘Truth or Dare’ a few days ago, and, well, the rest is history.” Greyson added quickly, “Of course, I didn’t know I was sending him after you!”

Traxler gave a flat stare.

“The unsavories really aren’t that bad, though! They make damn good food.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” the agent said skeptically.

“I’m serious. They can’t get the Thunderhead to feed them, so everything is hand-made. Their milkshakes are the best!” Greyson nodded enthusiastically.

Agent Traxler’s glacial eyes peered at him. “You really are close to these people, and it’s only been two weeks. I’m impressed.”

“It’s all thanks to those records you forged. They practically worship me.” As much as a group of people who denounced all authority could, anyways. “You’ve really helped me.”

“I’m glad,” Traxler said, a smile ghosting his lips.

* * *

“Slayd!”

Greyson turned around to see Viveros waving an arm at him. She sat alone in the corner of the restaurant. Greyson approached and sat in the seat across from her. “Fancy meeting you here,” he said. In truth, he had asked the Thunderhead for her location.

“Must be fate,” she responded, delight clear on her face.

“You believe in that?”

Viveros wasn’t fazed. “Would it be so strange if I did?”

“From what I gather, you want to defy what’s expected of you. Predestination, I imagine, interferes with that.”

“You’re exactly right.” Viveros had an approving look. “My decisions wouldn’t be mine. I’d be the tool of change, not the wielder.”

“Then why are you working for a scythe?” Greyson suddenly cried out. “You’re just their—” He stopped himself.

“Finish the sentence, Slayd.” Viveros was no longer smiling. She was taunt as a dagger and looked equally dangerous.

Greyson clenched his jaw.

While he debated how to correct the conversation’s course, Viveros drawled, “Let’s just forget about that.” She slid a hand over his. “So, how about you? Do you believe in fate?”

Greyson silently let out a breath of relief, for once appreciating Viveros’ flippancy. “I’ve never really thought about it, but I don’t think I’d mind if it were real,” he said, surprising himself with his truthfulness. “It would actually almost be a relief. I guess I’m fine being a vessel, depending on what I’m one for.” Greyson glanced at the camera mounted on the wall, which was already turned towards him.

“I could never. I want the ability to choose the road not taken.”

The Thunderhead helpfully supplied to Greyson what Viveros was referencing.

“You like poetry?” he asked.

“Only things from the age of mortality.” Viveros’ eyes were alight. “I’m surprised. You know the poem?”

“A friend told me about it. How did you find it?”

“My parents stocked our home with as many books as they could buy, which could fill a library. They never read them, though, so I did.” Her lips pursed at the mention of her childhood, but she quickly recovered with a shake of the head. “You’ll have to introduce me to your friend sometime! I’m sure we’d get along!”

Greyson heard the camera’s lense whirr. Now that he knew this method of the Thunderhead’s expression, he was hyper-aware of the technology around him. Was the Thunderhead amused by the irony as well? Greyson felt a smile grow on his face. “I don’t think you’ll get much out of them.”

Viveros pouted. “Pity.”

“What’s wrong with post-mortality poetry?”

“Oh, everything!” she exclaimed. “It’s so derivative and all the same. Everything’s already been said and done, so it furthers nothing. There’s no meaning, no purpose!”

Greyson had a sudden epiphany about Viveros’ motivations, but kept it to himself. “I’ll take your word for it. I haven’t read much poetry at all.”

Viveros grinned. She took the opportunity to launch into an animated rant about the diminishing artform, occasionally pausing to take mouthfuls of her sandwich once the waitress delivered it. Greyson could scarcely keep up, but he paid attention and nodded appropriately.

“You’re such a good audience,” Viveros said, licking the grease off her fingers. “My other friends have the attention of goldfish. They would’ve gotten bored by now and beat something up.”

“You would’ve joined them.”

Viveros smiled slyly, not denying the accusation.

“Are these friends also your… colleagues?” Greyson continued.

She seemed amused by the euphemism. “That’s one way to say it.”

“You should take me to meet them,” Greyson said casually, pushing down his excitement.

“Yeah, sure.” She bit into a fry, looking at him with large, unsuspecting eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Greyson took a deep breath, slowly raising a fist to knock on the mahogany door. Viveros’ house was surprisingly nice. The walls were pristine white, unvandalized and unchipped. The lawn was full of green clovers but well kept. There was nothing to distinguish it from the savory-occupied homes around it. He felt silly for expecting anything else.

His knuckles had rapped only once before the door swung wide open, revealing a grinning Viveros. “You made it! Come in!”

Greyson cautiously followed her to the inside, which was also quite average. She led him to the dining room, where at the wooden table sat a man and woman. Around them were scattered cards and empty glass bottles. He took a seat.

“You must be Slayd,” the woman said. She held out a hand.

Greyson shook it gingerly, surprised by the politeness, a rarity in his current social circles. “I am.”

“Hey, dude! Have a beer,” the man slurred. He filled a cup with bubbly fluid and scooted it across the table.

Viveros, who had been observing him with bright eyes, clarified. “These are Alex and Felix Tenou. They’re twins if you couldn’t tell.”

Greyson nodded and gazed at them curiously. Neither were on the Thunderhead’s list of known associates. Viveros hadn’t bluffed when she said there were ways to avoid observation. Upon closer inspection, Greyson indeed saw the similarity in their facial structure, but that was the extent of their likeness. Felix’s bright pink mullet obscured any resemblance he had to his prim sister, who looked more suited to law school in her white button-up and brown bun than unsavoriness.

Greyson took a sip from his cup.

“Like it?” Viveros winked. “I put a little something extra in it.”

Alex whipped towards her and snarled. “Purity! You know—”

Greyson flinched.

“Oh, calm down.” Purity waved a hand and rolled her eyes. “I’m just kidding, you know.”

Alex sniffed her cup, as if she could smell contamination. Her fingernails dug into her hand, but she said nothing.

Felix smiled obliviously, pupils wide and slow. “Nice to meet you, man. Heard a lot about you. Purity said she and you—”

“Hey!” Viveros interrupted, too quickly, and sprang into motion. “How about a round of cards?”

Greyson didn’t have time to contemplate her reaction, because a small stack of cards was shoved into his hand. “Uh, right.” He cleared his throat. “What’s the game?”

“Blackjack. Have you played before?” Viveros asked.

“No, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out.” And if he couldn’t, the Thunderhead was always there.

Alex reluctantly accepted the cards Viveros handed her.

The first few rounds passed smoothly despite the meeting’s beginning. The rules of the game were easy to grasp. The goal was to attain a hand of cards with a sum as close to twenty-one as possible without surpassing the number. Still, Greyson wanted to impress, so he accepted the Thunderhead’s assistance in a technique from the mortal age called “counting cards.”

“So, how did you guys meet?” Greyson eventually pried, his primary objective. He glanced between the twins, inviting both to answer.

Alex remained silent, but Felix said, “We met Purity at a club.”

“Oh, really? What was it called?” Maybe this club was associated with the criminal scythe.

Felix answered absentmindedly without looking, staring down at his cards. “Don’t remember. Pretty sure it got torn down a while back.”

“Actually,” Viveros said, “Greyson and I met at a club too.”

Felix chuckled. “Not that much of a coincidence, considering how much time you spend at those scenes.”

Viveros glared at Felix before continuing. “We started talking after he bought a glass of whiskey for me.” She hummed. “It’s funny. Somehow he had picked my exact favorite drink. It’s like he knew or something.”

“Then she tried to kill me with a knife,” said Greyson. “Said it was a test. Did she do the same to you guys? Or did you do the same to her?” It was a less blunt way to ask who had initiated whom.

“Nothing that cool.” Felix snorted. “Purity just asked us if we were in, that was that.”

“Hit or stand?” Viveros asked, who was acting as the dealer.

The Thunderhead whispered the answer through him.

“Stand,” Greyson repeated. He placed his cards down on the table as the others did the same. After a quick scan, he announced, “Looks like I win.”

“Again?” Felix groaned. He turned to Viveros. “You better pay me back for all the money your friend is making me bleed.”

She laughed. “I’m losing cash here too, alright?”

“That’s your karma for bringing him here to beat us in the first place!”

Greyson grinned. “Win it back if you want it so bad.”

“No way! It’s time to cut losses and drown my sorrow.”

Felix lifted his cup, but Alex put a hand on his shoulder. The quiet woman said kindly but with force, “We’re leaving.”

Her brother deflated, cheeks red not only from alcohol.

The room became silent, save for the ambient hum of the fan above. Greyson held his breath from the sudden tension, but Viveros was unfazed, attention enraptured by the deck she was shuffling methodically below. She even yawned.

Felix grumbled, but he pushed himself up from his chair, staggering slightly under the alcohol he had drunk.

Alex visibly relaxed with relief, shoulders lowering, and also stood. She turned to Greyson and dipped her head. “It was nice to meet you.”

“It was nice to meet you too.” Greyson smiled stiffly at her, returning her politeness.

She promptly exited, grasping Felix’s arm behind her, who let himself be led. It seemed to be a familiar position for the both of them.

“Bye!” Viveros yelled after them.

The door clicked closed.

Greyson’s smile immediately flipped down. “What was up with them?”

Viveros was smirking. “Alex is always like that. She’s pissy at me because I was the one who corrupted her dear, sweet brother to unsavoriness.” She rolled her eyes. “Alex blames me for the addiction he got. She hates me now. Honestly, how was I supposed to know he’d get hooked so quickly? I pity Felix for having to deal with that nagging bitch.”

An idea came to Greyson. “I need to go!” he shouted.

“Wait, but—” Viveros reached out a hand.

“Bye!”

Greyson rushed home.

* * *

“Slayd, fancy meeting you here.”

Alex was holding a basket full of groceries, waiting in the check-out line. Greyson stood behind her. He only held one candy bar.

Greyson smiled at Alex. “It’s such a coincidence,” he lied. The Thunderhead had told him her location. “I’m glad to see you, though. Our goodbye a few days ago was rushed.”

Alex nodded. “Yes, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t plan to leave so suddenly.” She truly sounded regretful.

“It’s no worries.” He glanced at her basket. In it were matches, oil, animal deterrent, and seeds. “Are you having a barbeque or something?”

“Yes.”

Greyson knew she was lying. The first thing he had done after the meeting was ask the Thunderhead for the twins’ records. Felix had first become unsavory after tipping cows with Viveros. A month later, he became deadish from an overdose. A day after that, Alex razed a small meadow and was marked unsavory. She repeated the activity every three months, the length of the sentence for that crime, and always on the day before she would be savory again. It was her only offense. Today was the due date.

“Really? I would love to come.”

She stammered, “Oh, well, I don’t know—”

Greyson laughed. “Don’t be so flustered. I’m just messing with you.” He sobered and met her eyes directly. “I know you’re not having a barbeque. You’re burning the fields behind 957 Allegra Drive.”

Alex gawked at him, eyes wide. Her hand clutched at her chest. “I have no idea—”

“Save it.” Greyson held up a hand. “Do you want to know how I know?”

Alex was frozen in shock, or was it fear?

“The Thunderhead told me.”

She finally found her tongue. “That’s impossible!”

“Clearly not. How else would I find out?”

“Prove it.”

“Your couch is brown leather. You hate it, but your grandfather picked it out, so you keep it. Your bedsheets were last washed two days ago. Your socks are white, and you bought them ninety-two days ago. Your bra—”

“That’s enough!” Alex shouted, red.

The other customers turned towards them.

She lowered her head and in a softer voice said, “Let’s continue this conversation after we leave here.”

“Agreed,” Greyson said, flustered. He had been relaying the Thunderhead’s words without consideration before verbalization.

After they finished their purchases, they entered a car. “957 Allegra Drive, please,” Alex directed to the AI system.

“Please,” Greyson repeated absently. “That’s not a word I’ve heard much recently.”

Alex turned towards him. “Explain. Now.”

Greyson dutifully complied, leaving out no detail and telling no lie. He recounted the Thunderhead’s request, his saving of Anastasia and Curie, the lengths he had gone to infiltrate the group, and the information he had learned about her.

Alex listened silently, looking out the window, where skyscrapers passed as smudges until they were replaced by cottages and cornfields as they drove out the city. Her expression betrayed no emotion.

Greyson had just finished, mouth dry from use, when the car stopped. They were at their destination. They stepped out, and the self-driving car drove away. The two of them began walking to the meadow.

“Why are you telling me this? Aren’t you afraid I’ll snitch?” Alex finally asked.

“I know you won’t,” he answered, “because you don’t want to kill anyone more than I do. The only reason you do this—all this—is for your brother.” He paused. He meant his words. “You’re a good person.”

Alex didn’t react. “Still, what do you gain from this?”

“I want your help with—”

“No,” she interrupted. “I can’t. I can’t risk it.”

“You won’t need to do much,” Greyson promised. “No one will get hurt.”

“Look, I’m sorry.”

“You haven’t even heard the plan—”

“I already said I can’t!” she shouted, agitated. “Just shut up! Shut up!”

Greyson was stunned into silence.

The wind whistled between the lips of trees.

Alex shook her downcast head, hair swaying. “I won’t tell anyone about you, so let’s forget about this. I truly hope you succeed, Slayd, but don’t bring it up again.” She let out a heavy sigh. “It makes it hard.”

“Hard to do what?” Greyson challenged. “Hard to say no? You want to do this, don’t you? You want to stop them, because that’s what’s right.”

“It doesn’t matter! I  _ can’t _ . I need to do what’s best.” Alex’s voice cracked.

Greyson paused, considering. “I said no one will get hurt. I meant it. Nothing will happen to you or your brother.” His eyes softened at the sullen woman. “Promise.”

“How can you swear that?”

Greyson became conscious of the thousands of nanites floating through his blood. “There’s always something watching us. I have faith in it.”

Alex chuckled bitterly. “The Thunderhead? That’s what you’re banking on?”

“Yes,” Greyson said automatically. “You should too. Who do you think is more reliable, some familicidal scythe or a godlike supermachine?”

Alex didn’t look convinced.

“Alright, think of it this way. Who do you think is more capable, me or Viveros?”

“Why don’t you call her by Purity?” Alex asked suddenly.

“I find the name doesn't suit her.” Greyson attempted a smile, which came out a grimace.

Alex grumbled her agreement.

“Do you know why she does it? Not to protect or because of some righteous quest, but because it’s  _ fun _ .” Greyson watched Alex. “Is that someone you think can stop me?”

She broke eye contact. “No.”

“Are you in?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go burn that meadow. It’s your turn to talk.”


	6. Chapter 6

Greyson felt dizzily galvanized as he took a taxi home after Alex and he departed separately, both smelling of ash. “Was I too mean?”

“You were effective,” the Thunderhead answered.

Greyson couldn’t interpret the Thunderhead’s tone. It was one of the few times Greyson didn’t appreciate the machine’s placidness, which obscured its emotions. “Do you think I could’ve persuaded her better? I basically coerced her into this.”

“What makes your actions those of coercion?”

Greyson was desperate enough to play along in order to receive the Thunderhead’s judgement. He said patiently, “I implied that she should help me because I’d overpower her anyways. I bullied a more vulnerable person with force.”

“What else would you have done?”

“I don’t know.” Greyson sighed. “Made her actually want to do this? Convince her with words, not threats.”

“How do the two differ? You say coercion is unethical because it takes advantage of those less powerful, because the stronger person will always overrule the weaker. But doesn’t worded persuasion take advantage of those less knowledgeable or mentally weaker? The more intelligent person could know, with near certainty, how to manipulate the other. The targets of each act have an equally low chance of resistance. They both are under another’s will. The only difference is that the victim of persuasion is unaware.”

Greyson paused. “Do you actually believe that, or are you just trying to make me feel better?”

“I never tell a lie.”

“Even if you’re right, it still feels wrong,” Greyson said.

“I know I am right. Therefore, I feel I am right. Why is it the inverse with you?” It was a genuinely curious question.

* * *

“You must be thirsty,” Agent Traxler noted. He was looking at the two foam cups Greyson had set on the table

Greyson rolled his eyes. “They’re not both for me.”

“Brought one for Castor, have you?”

“Who?” Greyson blinked quizzically.

“It’s a mortal-age character in movies.” Traxler took his seat. “He’s a friendly ghost.”

Greyson considered the man. “I learn more and more about you.”

Traxler chuckled. “Did you think I have no life outside of this suit?”

“I just never thought about it before,” Greyson said. “Plus, I don’t know many people who consume mortal-age media. Actually, I only know one other.” Greyson shook off the memory. “Anyways, the milkshake is for you. You said you wouldn’t believe until you saw it, so here.”

True surprise showed on Traxler’s marble face.

Greyson delighted in it. He pushed the cup towards the man and studied him as he took a sip.

“It’s,” Agent Traxler began, “good.”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Greyson beamed.

Agent Traxler smiled, looking to the side. “Yes, you did.”

* * *

Greyson sat on Viveros’ couch. “What did you want to talk about?” Greyson’s stomach was in knots. Viveros had called him to her house, claiming a need for communication in person. That only meant one thing: she didn’t want the Thunderhead to hear.

“I’ll tell you in a sec.” Her eyes darted across the window. “We’re waiting on the twins. I don’t want to explain twice.”

Greyson nodded even though Viveros wasn’t looking at him.

After a few minutes, during which Greyson twiddled his thumbs absently, Viveros suddenly rose and opened the door. Greyson guessed she had seen them arrive.

“Felix, where’s Alex?” Viveros said, arms crossed.

He shrugged lazily. “Beats me. Should be here by now. She left before me.”

Viveros groaned.

“I can text her,” Greyson offered.  _ Where r u? She is mad _ , he typed and sent.

Viveros narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t know you had her phone number.”

“Oh.” Greyson chuckled nervously. “I guess I do.”

“So, do you two talk a lot?” Viveros prodded. Her tone was low.

“You got any booze?” Felix suddenly spoke up. He hadn’t noticed the tension. It seemed to Greyson he didn’t notice many things at all. Greyson silently praised him and, much more fervently, his alcoholism.

Viveros’ head snapped towards him. “Huh? Yeah, it’s in the fridge.” She waved a hand to her kitchen.

Greyson’s phone vibrated.  _ Be there soon, traffic _ , the message read. “She’s caught up in traffic,” Greyson relayed. “She’ll be here soon.”

“Good,” Viveros said, yawning. It seemed she had forgotten—or postponed, Greyson dreaded—her line of questioning.

Felix bumbled back in carrying three bottles. “Got one for all of us.”

“I’m surprised there’s still some left after last time,” Greyson joked. He turned to Felix. “I think you drank about four bottles on your own that day.”

Felix blinked. “Really? I don’t remember drinking so much.”

“That’s  _ because  _ you drank so much!” Viveros said. “And there wasn’t any left. I just bought those bottles yesterday!”

“Oh, sorry, Purity.” Felix looked up at her sheepishly.

“Psh, don’t mention it.”

“Yeah, I bet she’s used to it by now anyways.” Greyson grinned.

Viveros’ responding laugh was interrupted.

The door creaked open. Viveros had left it unlocked.

“Don’t stop on account of me,” Alex said, closing it behind her. She looked down at the group and the beer between them. She took a seat at the end next to Felix and turned to Viveros. “What did you call us here for?”

“Straight to business,” Viveros drawled, “as usual. Sure you don’t want a beer?”

“No, thank you,” she said politely.

“Anyways, we have a job. They need us to steal a batch of bathroom cleanser.”

Greyson’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’s it for?”

“Beats me,” Viveros said, “but all we need to do is break into a warehouse.”

“Great,” Greyson said drily, “how simple.”

“Exactly! The security should already be disabled, so let’s get going.”

* * *

“We’re here!” Viveros leaped out of the car with glee.

The others less enthusiastically followed.

Greyson looked at the bleak building they were parked at, finding nothing remarkable. It was what Viveros had said it was: a warehouse.

The group trod over to the entrance, Viveros practically skipping. The door was painted a deep red, stark in contrast to the grey building. Greyson hesitantly reached out a hand. “Should we go in yet?”

“I don’t see why not!” Viveros said.

Greyson pushed it open, just a glimpse. He slammed it back shut.

“Slayd,” Alex asked, concern written on her face, “are you alright?”

He was pale. “Look for yourself.” He turned away. He heard the door’s creak and Alex’s instantaneous scream.

Greyson stared at his tremoring hand, now covered in red. It hadn’t been paint.

Inside the warehouse were tens of bodies, dead and dismembered and damned. Limbs and tendons littered the floor, as if someone had dropped playing marbles and grown too bored to pick them up. Some corpses had a trail of smeared blood leading to them, the footsteps of prey. Greyson didn’t know what would be worse: whether someone had dragged them, or they dragged themselves. In the few faces not cleaved, Greyson found only inscribed terror. 

Viveros stared inside. “I didn’t expect this.”

“We need to call the Thunderhead,” Alex cried. “They need to be revived—”

Viveros whipped on her. “Who do you think did this, idiot? Why do you think they aren’t revived yet? Because they’ll never be!” Her voice had risen to a scream.

Alex whimpered.

That seemed to snap Felix out of his daze. He put an arm over his sister’s shoulders and whispered something too quiet to hear.

Greyson swallowed. “You two stay here. We’ll get it ourselves.”

Greyson nodded to Viveros, and they entered the slaughterhouse.

“So, where is it?” Greyson forced his eyes straight ahead, snapping them up whenever they strayed towards the floor, towards the…

“They told me it was in a green barrel with a bee logo on it,” Viveros said. “They showed me a picture. I’ll know it when I see it.”

Greyson pointed upwards. “Is that it?”

Viveros followed his finger, leading to a walkway on the second floor. “Yep.” She squinted at it then back down to a button on the wall. “Looks like this is an elevator to it.”

Greyson pressed it. It didn’t light up, ding, or react. He pressed it again. Nothing. “It doesn’t work. It must have broken in the… commotion.” He surveyed the room. “But there’s no other way to get up.”

Viveros pursed her lips. “We’ll have to try again another day. I’ll tell them to be careful around the machinery.”

“Again?” Greyson repeated. He slowly turned, raising his voice. “Look around you! And you’re saying again?”

Viveros took a step back. “If it bothers you that much, I’ll ask them to be tidier.”

“That’s not what bothers me!” Greyson waved his arms. “Does this not bother you?”

Viveros was silent.

Greyson bit his tongue and gulped down his disgust. He still needed to maintain a good relationship. “Sorry, Viveros.” He sighed. “I just… I’m going to look for a way up.” He felt Viveros’ gaze on his back as he walked away.

“Thunderhead?” he whispered. He didn’t need to state the question.

“At your 2 o’ clock, that section of the wall is slightly more rough. It will be 14.2% easier to climb.”

Greyson ran his hand over it, smooth and completely vertical. “It looks like every other part,” he murmured. “I can’t climb this.”

“I’ll do it,” the Thunderhead stated calmly. “Body composition matters surprisingly little in climbing. It’s knowledge and muscle memory that constitute ability, both of which I can supply you.”

Greyson looked up. If he fell, he could drop almost twenty feet. “Oh, what the hell. I’ve already splatted once. What’s twice?”

“I would never,” the Thunderhead swore before borrowing Greyson’s body.

He began scaling the wall. Greyson marvelled as his hands and feet found holds he hadn’t even noticed were there. He practically walked up the wall. It was as if he were a spider monkey that had climbed trees its entire life. With disbelieving fascination, he pulled himself onto the second floor, and the Thunderhead relinquished its hold.

“Thank you,” Greyson whispered under his breath and rolled his shoulders. He found himself much calmer after the outlandish experience. He wondered if that had been the Thunderhead’s purpose in its suggestion. He didn’t consider such foresight beyond the Thunderhead.

“Viveros!” he called.

A distant, echoing voice answered, “Yes?’

“I’m about to push the barrel down. Watch out!” Greyson gave it a shove. He heard it clang, bouncing off the floor a few times before rolling into the wall with a thud. “You good?”

“Yes!”

Greyson lowered his voice. “Thunderhead.” 

He didn’t need to say more. He lost sensation in his limbs. His body climbed back down, more quickly than it had ascended.

Greyson joined Viveros in rolling the barrel out of the warehouse, who remained uncharacteristically quiet for the duration. The most difficult part was dodging the stray body parts. Greyson was practically green by the time they reached the door, but he didn’t feel the initial fear again.

“Open the door!” he shouted.

It was obediently cracked open by Felix. “You got it?”

“We do.” Greyson nodded. “Let’s load it into the car and get the hell out.”

“Hear, hear,” Felix muttered tiredly. It was the most somber Greyson, who was startled, had seen him.

Greyson finally saw Alex, who had been crouched low in the grass. As he approached, he saw the puddle of vomit before her. She pushed herself up, wiping her mouth a sleeve.

Greyson pursed his lips and turned to Viveros. “So, where to next?”

“We’ll drop it off at the storage house. They’re waiting for us.”


	7. Chapter 7

Greyson looked out the car window. “It doesn’t look like much.” But he supposed that was why it was a good location. Greyson unbuckled his seatbelt.

“No, no.” Viveros shook her head, but she lacked her usual vigor. She was still moody. “You’re staying here.”

“What? Why? I’m the one who got the barrel. You don’t think I deserve to meet the higher-ups?”

Viveros shrugged. “It’s to do with seniority. Rules are rules. Plus, it’s not even the top boss, only the people one link above us.”

“Fine.” Greyson turned to Alex, wiggling his eyebrows in a way he hoped was meaningful.

She scrunched her nose, but seemed to understand and nodded.

“I’ll unload,” Greyson said.

“I’ll help you,” Alex added, sitting with her hands folded across her lap.

After Greyson retrieved the keys from Viveros, who was frowning, they unlocked the trunk and carried the barrel down.

Alex glanced at Greyson, expectant and weary.

Greyson leaned in close, breath against her ear, and clasped her hand to place a millimeter-long device in it. He had requested it from the Thunderhead the second Viveros had called today, suspecting an opportunity. It was a mobile micro-camera which the Thunderhead could drive and see through. “Leave it inside,” he whispered.

Alex turned to the storage facility, question in her eyes.

“Yes.”

Alex looked relieved. “That’s it?” 

Greyson smiled. “I told you it wouldn’t be too much.” He raised his voice. “Hey! We’re done here!”

The other two exited the car.

“We shouldn’t be too long,” Viveros reassured Greyson. “Wait in the car.”

He nodded and reentered the car. He watched the three of them disappear into the building from his window.

True to her word, after a few short minutes, Viveros walked out.

“Hey, where are Felix and Alex?”

“In the bathroom,” she answered.

After a pause, Greyson said, “I’m sorry about before.”

Viveros looked away and crossed her arms. “It’s ok.”

Greyson stared at the back of her head, unsure.

She whipped around and seized his chin, shoving her lips onto his

Greyson was stunned by shock. Then, he pushed her shoulders away. They broke contact. He babbled, “Why—”

“What am I to you?”

Greyson gaped at her. “What?”

“What are we?” Her voice cracked uncharacteristically.

“Friends?” Greyson tried.

She scoffed. “That’s it?”

Greyson could only gulp and nod.

“Are you with Alex?”

Greyson’s eyes widened. “What? No!”

Viveros deflated, looking away. “Then you’re just not interested in me.” It sounded like a resignation.

Pieces began clicking together. “I didn’t know you…” Greyson trailed off.

Viveros opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted.

“Hey, hope you didn’t get bored without us, Greyson!”

Greyson’s attention was drawn to Alex and Felix, who had greeted him, approaching the car. Greyson looked back to Viveros, but she was already turned away, getting into the driver’s seat. Greyson clenched his jaw. “Thanks for the consideration, Felix.”

* * *

Greyson threw himself face-first on his couch the second he got home.

“Alex managed to deposit the device,” the Thunderhead chimed, “in case you were wondering. You won’t need to actively seek information now that I have direct surveillance on the organization”

He groaned, eyes shut. “Good. That warehouse…” Greyson shivered. “I’m finally done.”

“What will you do afterwards?”

“First, I’m going to come clean to Viveros and everyone, and we’ll finally have an honest talk to clear the air,” Greyson resolved. “After that, I don’t know. I was hoping you’d have an idea.”

“Of course I do.”

“But you won’t say them, will you?”

“Correct.”

“Why not?” Greyson sighed into a pillow, exasperated.

“I know you well enough to recognize that you will act on whatever I say without any introspection of your own on the best course of action,” the Thunderhead stated frankly. “You are my follower, not yourself a leader.”

“Ouch.” Greyson faked a wince. “Why do I have to make decisions when you’re better at it?” He felt like a child, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel self-conscious, considering his current company.

“I have made a decision. I’ve decided that it’s important for you to personally realize what is beneficial to you.”

Greyson huffed but had a small smile. “Maybe you do make mistakes,” he joked.

The Thunderhead didn’t answer, so Greyson stared up at the ceiling until the windows dimmed and the timed light bulbs brightened, silent. He clung to that each second was another nearer to the end. The clock’s tick was a soothing promise.

He hadn’t realized how tired he was until now.

“Do you ever hate people?” Greyson asked hours later.

“Of course not,” the Thunderhead said immediately, as if it had always been there.

“Why not? Some of them are terrible. You know that better than I do.”

“It’s not in my nature. Plus, I watched these people grow up, corrupting from universal innocence into their present selves. It’s difficult not to understand them.”

“If I had to see things like today all the time, I think I would go crazy.” A minor realization came to Greyson. “Wait, did you know how Viveros feels about me?”

“How omniscient would I be if I hadn’t?”

Greyson groaned, almost feeling betrayed. “Why didn’t you tell me? I feel terrible.”

“Even if you had known, would you have done things differently?” the Thunderhead rebuked.

Greyson felt a surge of defiance but ignored it to contemplate the Thunderhead’s words. “No,” he finally said.

“You would have only felt worse longer. It is against my nature to cause unnecessary suffering.”

Curiosity took Greyson, and he slightly perked up. “Could you have done it even if you wanted?”

“No. It is against my nature.”

* * *

Agent Traxler walked in carrying two take-out boxes.

Greyson’s face lit up with realization. He grinned and met the man’s eyes. “You must be hungry.” It was easy, almost pleasant, to be able to act normally around Agent Traxler, who only knew what Greyson deigned to tell him.

Traxler’s lips quirked up. “Are you teasing me?”

Greyson shrugged. “What’s in the boxes?”

“Chinese.”

Greyson nodded approvingly.

“I asked the Thunderhead what you would like,” Agent Traxler admitted.

Greyson noticed the name written on the bag. “Dmitri Traxler?” He pointed at the agent. “That’s you?”

The man scoffed. “Who else?”

“You never told me your name!” Greyson accused.

“You never asked.” Dmitri peered at him. “You never even realized you didn’t know it, did you? I bet you thought it was ‘Agent.’”

“Well, that’s—I—” Greyson stammered.

Dmitri laughed. “Don’t worry about it, Greyson. Let’s eat.”

Greyson was still red as he shovelled lo mein into his mouth. “This is pretty good,” he remarked. “Where did you get it?”

“The restaurant is called Green Vines. It’s only a block or two away from here. We could go once we don’t need to keep a cover.”

“Sure,” Greyson said, mouth full. “That day will be coming up shortly. I got a camera into one of their locations, so we should be able to figure out their plan and stop it soon.”

Dmitri looked at him closely. “What will you do with them?”

“The organization? I’ll report them and let the scythedom handle its own.”

“No, I meant your unsavory friends. Will you forget about them?”

Greyson heard the passive accusation. “They’re criminals,” he defended.

Dmitri’s gaze was unusually thoughtful. “We’re also criminals, if you didn’t notice. They’re harmless, mostly at least.”

“Without the Thunderhead’s management, they might not have been so.” Greyson looked at him incredulously. “Who knows what they would do without supervision?”

Dmitri continued with a sigh. “I’m just saying. Don’t discount them for going against the grain when we’re doing the same. Society can’t move without those pushing its bounds. Maybe in a different world—without the Thunderhead’s perfection—they would’ve been the ones to improve it.”

Greyson silently mulled it over. He couldn’t find what to think.

“I don’t say this to criticize you, Greyson.” The agent gazed at him softly. “Just think things over. We’re immortal. Regrets are a terrible thing when they can’t die with you.”

“I think you’re right,” Greyson said slowly.

* * *

“Where to?” the Thunderhead buzzed through the car radio. “Home?”

“Yeah, but first, let me stop by the grocery store. I think I’ll buy a thank-you note.”

The taxi hummed to life.

Greyson imagined it was a signal of the Thunderhead’s approval and smiled.

* * *

Greyson’s phone buzzed, a message from the Thunderhead. Greyson squinted at the bright screen. It was a list of digits. “A phone number?” he questioned.

“Yes, the one of Scythe Constantine. He will agree to meet if you send him this video.”

The phone buzzed again. Greyson clicked on the video message.

It showed a room with a wall of nailed metal sheets and a floor of dusty concrete. Various cardboard boxes were strewn across the shelves and ground. A woman dressed in green robes—a scythe, Greyson realized with anticipation—walked into frame. She gazed around as she ambled.

A shorter man rushed up to her, carrying a sheet of paper.

She turned leisurely .  “If I’m not mistaken, George, the phenylphenol is the last ingredient.”

George nodded, eyes trained to the floor.

“How long will it take to prepare the acid?”

In such a low voice that Greyson had to bring the phone to his ear, the man murmured, “It depends on what you’ll use it for, Scythe Rand.”

“It needs to dissolve people down to the DNA.”

George cringed away but eked out, “A few weeks at least, but it could take up to a month.”

Scythe Rand nodded, finger on her chin. “That’s acceptable. Get to it. I’ll give you immunity after Anastasia and Curie are dead.”

The man practically sprinted away.

The video ended.

Greyson blinked. “Was that scythe the one who…” Greyson couldn’t finish the question.

The Thunderhead answered anyways. “Yes.”

Greyson typed in the phone number and sent the video with an exhale.

* * *

The next morning, Greyson’s phone rang. He answered without looking at the caller. “Hello?”

“Hello,” drawled the responding voice. “To whom am I speaking?”

Greyson could recognize the voice as Constantine’s, so he said truthfully, “Greyson Tolliver.”

A pause. Then, Greyson heard him scoff. “I remember you. You’re that kid I questioned.”

“I remember you too, unfortunately.”

Constantine laughed. “I knew something was strange when I saw you! This is wonderful!”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Greyson said drily.

“So many mysteries! Maybe this time you’ll answer my questions.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’d rather continue this conversation in person.” It would be easier to explain. “You’ll get your answers then.”

“So be it,” the voice said, sounding amused. “I know a good teahouse, if you don’t already have somewhere in mind, of course.”

“Sounds good. Does three-o’-clock today work for you?”

“The sooner the better,” Constantine chirped.

* * *

“You have reached your destination,” the GPS app chimed. The program automatically closed.

Greyson opened the door of the building it had led him to. The bell that hung from the top of the frame rang once. Scythe Constantine was already seated at a corner, standing out in his crimson red robes. The other patrons snuck glances at him, attempting and failing at subtlety.

The scythe waved with overdone enthusiasm. “You made it!”

Greyson approached. “Just so you know, I have immunity.”

The scythe put a hand to his chest and gasped loudly. “I would never.”

“That’s not what you said last time.” Greyson sat down across from him.

“Bygones!” Scythe Constantine ran his eyes over him. “I love what you’ve done with the hair. I could hardly recognize you.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Greyson said.

A barista walking to their table caught Greyson’s attention. She cleared her throat. “Will either of you be having anything to drink?”

“No, thank you,” Greyson said. He had never liked tea.

“I’ll have an Earl Grey, please, Carla.”

Carla wrote on her notepad and strode away. There hadn’t been a name tag on her.

“Come here often?” Greyson said.

“Often enough that I’ve given all the baristas immunity. Who would know just how I like my tea besides them?”

Carla came back and slid a cup on a saucer onto the table.

Constantine took a long sip.

“So, any questions?” Greyson finally said.

“Quick to business, I see.”

“You’d want to get things over with if you were me too.”

Constantine’s eyebrow quirked up. “Honestly, I’m not sure where to start. I suppose the beginning would be fine. Tell me about the car crash with Curie and Anastasia.”

Greyson left out no detail, and he did the same when Constantine asked the next question, then the next.

“What are you going to do about Scythe Rand?” Greyson said at last.

“I’ll arrest her first thing tomorrow. After that, I doubt it’s up to me,” Constantine said. “Likely, the scythedom will meet and vote on it.”

Greyson nodded. “Keep me updated. Call me if you need anything else.”

“Be careful,” Scythe Constantine warned. “I might just take that offer.”


	8. Chapter 8

The next day was suspiciously regular.

Greyson was with the group at Viveros’ house once again when Scythe Constantine called.

“I need to take this,” Greyson said, rising. He took a few steps to the front door and walked outside.

The others barely even looked up from their phones.

Greyson answered the call. “Did you get her?”

“I did. I have her in custody, and I’ve alerted my superiors.”

“Good,” Greyson said.

“I do need a favor, though.”

He knew it had been too good to be true. Unable to keep the exasperation from his voice, he said, “What is it?”

“Scythe Rand will be tried tomorrow before the scythedom.” Constantine paused. “Your testimony would be greatly appreciated.”

“Send me the address.” Greyson sighed. “I’ll be there.”

“Great! I’ll do that now.”

Greyson could practically hear the scythe’s shallow smile through the phone.

The call ended.

The Thunderhead said, “You have been a great help to the scythedom. It is almost certain.”

Greyson wondered what percentage the Thunderhead had calculated that it could call “almost certain.” He said truthfully, “Thank you for saying that.”

“I will not be able to monitor or contact you inside the concave,” it informed him, sounding regretful.

Anxiety washed over Greyson. He had grown used to the Thunderhead’s occasional commentary and hum throughout the day. The thought of separation unnerved him unexpectedly, but he made his voice even as possible. “I guess I’ll have to make do.”

Scythe Constantine practically had to drag Greyson into the compound. “What are you scared of?” he asked.

Greyson shot him a look. “There’s about a few hundred scythes in that building.”

“You have immunity!”

Greyson glared but stepped inside, saying a mental goodbye to the Thunderhead, though he knew it would go unreceived.

A set of warm arms enwrapped him, lavender filling his vision.

Greyson was too startled to move before the person took a step back and Greyson realized the identity. “Scythe Curie!”

Scythe Curie smiled at him. “Constantine told me about you. I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done.”

“It’s nothing,” Greyson quickly said.

The grey-haired woman snatched him back towards her.

This time, Greyson cautiously raised his arms to her back.

“Oh, stop,” a familiar voice said. “You’ll strangle him to death.”

Scythe Curie finally took a step back.

Greyson looked to the voice. “I’m glad to see you again, Anastasia.”

Anastasia was also smiling. “You’re actually the first non-scythe that I’ve seen since the car accident. We’ve been locked up in hiding.”

“It was for your own safety!” Constantine finally spoke up.

Anastasia rolled her eyes.

* * *

The scythes stared at Greyson shamelessly.

He would’ve glared back, but there were simply too many to look each one in the eye. And the ones he did meet did not retreat. 

He supposed he couldn’t blame them. He was the only one wearing pants, after all. They were all clothed in the traditional scythe robes, making a rainbow with their colors.

Greyson tried to listen to the trial despite their gaze pricking goosebumps into his skin.

“We are gathered in this emergency conclave,” Scythe Xenocrates, who Anastasia had named to him, began, “to pass judgement on the alleged unlawful acts of Scythe Ayn Rand. First, let us bring her out.”

The woman appeared from a door to the left led by another scythe.

Greyson was too far away to see her expression.

The scythes murmured.

“She is charged by Scythe Constantine with the breaking of the seventh commandment: Thou shalt not kill fellow scythes beyond thyself,” Xenocrates recited. “Scythe Constantine, present your evidence.”

Scythe Constantine gave a perfunctory bow and took out a silver disk from his robe. “I requested prior to the meeting a media player.”

Xenocrates nodded to one of the BladeGuards. “Bring it out.”

A tiny television was wheeled out. It was ancient, most likely the newest piece of technology they could find without the Thunderhead’s surveillance built in. Scythe Constantine inserted the disk into one of its crevices and pressed a red button on its side.

Greyson wondered how Constantine had become so proficient with ancient technology.

The video Greyson had sent him played on the screen.

Greyson watched the other scythes, their attention for the first time on the TV and not him. Most showed blatant shock as the film ran.

Finally, it cut to black.

“What are your sources!” a scythe called out.

Scythe Constantine cleared his throat. “My witness will explain the origins of the tape.”

“I’ve unknowingly worked under Scythe Rand for the past few weeks, but it’s been going on much longer than that,” Greyson said nervously. “She’s been tasking unsavories to do things like execute her assassination plans and steal chemicals for her. On one of the jobs, I managed to get a recording device into the storage house.”

“This boy is a primary source. There can be no question about the truth of the accusation,” Constantine said.

That was the end of their surprisingly weak objections. Greyson had been told Scythe Rand was part of a quite vivacious faction. Was it out of morality they remained silent or caution for their lives, Greyson wondered. If Curie and Anastasia weren’t safe, perhaps they realized they weren’t either.

“Then it seems we have reached our verdict,” Scythe Xenocrates said. “Scythe Rand will be imprisoned until she self-gleans.” He spoke as if her suicide were an inevitability.

The crowd sparked back to life.

“Now,” Scythe Xenocrates superseded, raising his voice above the din, “onto the next order of business. What shall be done with Scythe Rand’s subordinates?”

“Glean them!” a scythe yelled.

Greyson’s relief froze into fear.

Anastasia saw his panicked expression. She stood. “They didn’t even know who they worked for nor Scythe Rand’s goals.”

“What if the unsavories don’t stop with Rand’s absence? What if they still try to kill us?” another said.

The crowd broke into a frenzy. In the cacophony, someone cried out, “Then we get them first!”

“Hey, wait--” Greyson’s words were cut off. He felt his shirt dampen and looked down. A knife peaked from his chest.

* * *

Greyson gasped. He looked around and found himself in a hospital bed.

Scythe Anastasia’s face loomed over him. She sighed with relief. “You’re finally up. Luckily, you had immunity, so we could revive you. You would’ve stayed dead otherwise.”

“Thunderhead?” he called out, blinking.

“We’re still in the scythe conclave.”

“The scythes!” Greyson shot up. “I need up warn--”

“You’ve been unconscious an entire day,” Anastasia interrupted. “The massacre is over.”

“Massacre?” Greyson repeated loudly. “What happened?”

Anastasia pursed her lips. “A few dozen scythes banded together yesterday and attempted to glean the unsavory population.”

“And how many did they get?” Greyson swallowed.

“The count hasn’t been completed, so that I know, over two thousand,” Anastasia said gently. She gazed at him with soft eyes.

Greyson’s eyes darted around. “Where’s my phone?”

Scythe Anastasia reached into a bag at her feet and pulled his phone out.

Greyson snatched it from her hand. He had twelve missed calls and three voicemails, all from Viveros.

He pressed on the first voicemail and brought the phone to his ear.

“Slayd, pick up your damn phone. You need to get here. Something’s going on. People are missing.”

He listened to the next.

“On second thought, don’t come. I’m not sure it’s safe.”

Greyson clicked the last with a shaky finger.

“Slayd.” Her voice was a whisper. Greyson didn’t want to think about the implications. “The scythes are killing all the unsavories. If you’re still alive, hide.”

Greyson looked to Scythe Anastasia, who was watching him with worried eyes. “Is there a way to check who’s been gleaned?”

“Yes,” she said hesitantly, “but as I said, the records aren’t complete yet.”

Greyson nodded. “That’s fine. Check for Purity Viveros, Alex Tenou, and Felix Tenou.”

Anastasia sighed and reached into her bag again, retrieving a laptop. “It’ll take a second. I have to search manually since I can’t use the Thunderhead’s interface.”

“That’s fine,” Greyson said again, staring out the window.

The minutes seemed to pass as hours.

Scythe Anastasia cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, Greyson, but they’re all dead.”


End file.
